


Never Was

by HMS AUs (HMSquared)



Series: The Hounds of Vegas Universe [3]
Category: Original Work, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Vegas, Cameos, Cliffhangers, Grocery Shopping, Guns, Headaches & Migraines, Jealousy, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Prequel, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, circa 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21534628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSquared/pseuds/HMS%20AUs
Summary: Dean loves Roman so much...but for so many horrible reasons, he can't tell him.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns, Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Series: The Hounds of Vegas Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1401376
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Never Was

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, just as a warning, this story contains a shooting. It's not graphic, but I figured I should warn you in case that's not your thing.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean’s migraine was worse than usual when he stirred, pounding the back of his skull like a drum. Rolling over, he rubbed his temples and winced. A glance at the clock told him it was 5:30 a.m. Early enough that his friends were still sleeping, but not early enough that he couldn’t go to the store.

It was still fairly dark out; not pitch black, per se, but dark enough that he would require his headlights. Silently getting out of bed, Dean quickly dressed and headed downstairs, praying Seth and Roman wouldn’t hear him.

By the time the sun had begun to rise, his migraine had faded away to a tolerable amount of pain. Even though there was a supermarket right down the street, Dean had found a better one two hours away from the house. It gave him more time away from Seth and Roman, the lovebirds who unknowingly made him feel sick.

Roman… Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Dean bit his tongue. He loved Roman so much, loved being in his presence and seeing his smiles. But unfortunately, he was with Seth now.

He couldn’t provide the love Dean could. Seth was flirty, always looking for his next big score. Dean knew Roman wasn’t like that; he wanted to take things slow in his relationship. The future Lunatic could provide that.

There weren’t many people in the supermarket. Grabbing a shopping cart, Dean slowly made his way down the aisles, picking out fresh produce and two boxes of pancake mix. “Centuries” quietly fluttered through the speakers, every note hitting his brain like a drop of water. He didn’t feel good.

The only reason Dean hadn’t been to the doctor was his friends didn’t know about the migraines. They didn’t know it took every ounce of his energy to get out of bed and go to work. They were too busy running from Triple H...why would a simple migraine be important?

After thirty minutes of mindless shopping, Dean found himself in the wine aisle. None of them drank it, but suddenly the flavors and names intrigued him. He wasn’t a wine connoisseur by any means (was there any difference between red and white besides the color?), and he wouldn’t become one anytime soon.

Stopping, he reached over and grabbed a random bottle of red wine. The label was written in French, a language Dean couldn’t read or speak. Gripping it in one hand, he wondered how many glasses could be poured. How many glasses he’d need to consume before his vision blotted and the world stopped ringing in his ears…

Shaking himself from his daze, Dean put the wine back and finished shopping. He dilly dallied after paying, slowly putting each item into his car like it was china.

Just as he got in the car, Dean’s phone lit up. A text from Roman.

_Where are you?_

This simple question made his heart pang. Dean hated making Roman worry, especially if he couldn’t back himself up in person.

**_Out. Did you just get up?_ **

_Yes. When do you think you’ll be home?_

**_A couple of hours._ **

_Can’t wait for that._

It was an innocent comment, but Dean still felt his ears turn bright red. Smiling (though it wasn’t a real one), he started the car and drove home.

They lived in a two story house a mile or two away from the Strip. It was gray with cute white trim and a garage in the front. Hearing the door slide shut behind him, Dean braced himself. _Time to not be an idiot_ , he thought.

Thankfully, there were only two bags of groceries. Holding them both in one hand, Dean opened the door with his other and called,

“Lucy, I’m home!” An unpleasant smell (well, in the eyes of the beholder) filled his nose: bacon.

Rounding the corner, he braked to a stop. Roman was cooking bacon on the stove, plates of waffles and pancakes arranged nicely on the counter. Nearly dropping the groceries, Dean set his jaw.

“What’s all this?” His tone was a little tighter than he would’ve liked, but Roman didn’t seem to notice.

“Dean!” He turned around with a smile on his face and an apron over his long-sleeved shirt. “I didn’t hear you come in.” Roman’s eyes went to the bags. “Oh...were you thinking of making breakfast?”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Dean lied, plastering a smile on his face. He hated lying to his friend, but it was too late now. As he set the bags down on the table, the steps creaked.

“I smell food!” And there was Seth, wrapping his arms around Roman’s waist and kissing his cheek. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Roman muttered. Pulling away, Seth turned to the plates.

“Smells wonderful, babe.” His eyes glanced up. “And how are you, Dean?”

 _I want to wrap my hands around your throat and strangle you_ , he thought. But instead, Dean replied,

“Good. You seem chipper.”

“In this economy, I’ve got to be,” Seth joked, grabbing a plate as Roman served bacon. He was, of course, talking about Triple H and the Authority breathing down his neck. It was a nightmare, to put it lightly, but they had decided to tough it out. Otherwise, Roman had said, trouble would follow them wherever they went.

Seth drove them to work, per usual. Dean was riding shotgun, Roman quietly browsing his phone in the backseat. They chatted lightly on the way over, debating what cases and roadblocks they’d face that day.

Leaning back in his chair, Dean closed his eyes. He was getting tired of the monotony, the sameness every day. Go to work, solve crimes, try not to get killed by corrupt coworkers. It had become too simple, too easy. He wanted out.

“You good, Deano?” Roman asked from behind him. Dean nodded.

“Just tired.” He didn’t feel like elaborating and thankfully, neither of his roomates asked him to.

“Ambrose!” A sharp voice hit his ears as he entered the precinct; turning, Dean saw Jacob Kane, a small time member of the Authority, glaring at him.

“Yes, Kane?” he asked, not having the patience or energy to argue.

“I need you to make sure all of our files are in order. Think you can do that?”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Dean replied, spinning on his heel and walking toward the storage room. As soon as Kane was out of earshot, he muttered, “I’ll try not to mess that up ‘as usual’, idiot.”

The storage room was beautiful, lined with wood and dark except for a single overhead light. Unfortunately, rumors were spreading that Hunter needed the space for an office expansion. That, of course, meant everything pertinent would be squashed into three filing cabinets and the rest would be moved to the basement no one was sure really existed. Opening the creaky door and wincing, Dean inhaled the musty air and let himself get lost.

The files were fascinating; so much of Vegas’ criminal history, all packed into one room. Every once in a while, Dean would pull one out and read it, losing himself in the details. Then he’d return it and keep working, vaguely wondering what Seth and Roman were up to.

“Enjoying our town’s lustrous history?” In the midst of reading a file, Dean jumped; he hadn’t heard anyone approach. Turning around, he was greeted by Phillip Brooks, a smart-mouthed kid from Chicago who’d transferred over to Vegas three months prior. Smirking, he replied,

“You’re a gremlin, Brooks.”

“Yes, and now I’m going to eat your face.” His response was so deadpan Dean actually chuckled, returning the file to its proper place. Standing up, he noticed something in Brooks’ eyes; a darkness he’d never seen before.

“You okay?”

“Are any of us really okay?” He leaned against the filing cabinet, thinking. “I guess I won’t know since I’m leaving.”

“Headed back to Chicago already?”

“Yeah…” A small grin appeared on Brooks’ face. “I’m tired of Hunter’s BS, and I’m tired of Vince letting him do whatever he wants.” Pushing himself back to a standing position, he said, “Good luck, Mox.” (He’d given Dean that nickname during their first meeting.) Giving a two-fingered salute, Brooks then left the storage room, never to return.

Dean watched him go with an air of fascination. Maybe he had the right idea. Hunter hated his guts after all, and seeing Seth with Roman made his blood boil. Maybe…

He smiled. If Dean did it properly, if he was super careful, he could leave Vegas and everyone would think he was dead. No more Hunter, no more Kane, and no more Seth Rollins.

Several hours later, the Hounds of Justice found themselves in front of Roman’s computer. Dean had emerged from the storage room after checking every file twice, only to find Kane had left and Hunter was nowhere to be found. So instead he loitered, waiting for someone to give him a task. Roman had been monitoring traffic cameras, so he helped with that.

Now they were the only cops left in the building. One hand on his cheek, barely awake, Seth muttered,

“Anything interesting, Roman?”

“Surprisingly, the citizens of Las Vegas aren’t being stupid.” Dean scoffed under his breath, leaning back in his chair. Turning off the computer, Roman rubbed his eyes. “Well, boys, I think it’s time we-”

The phone rang, causing them all to jump. Seth and Dean swore, the former more loudly, and the third Hound rolled his eyes. Grabbing the receiver, Roman picked up.

“Yeah?” He straightened up in sudden interest. “Where?... Okay. Yeah, we’ll be there soon. Thanks.” He hung up.

“What is it?” Dean asked, leaning forward. Standing up to grab his jacket and vest, Roman replied,

“A warehouse got broken into ten minutes ago, and we’re the closest office.” Holding the cap in his mouth, he scribbled the address with a Sharpie onto the yellow pad of paper Seth kept in his drawer. Dean looked over his shoulder, trying not to think about how close they were. The address seemed familiar.

“You know, I feel like we got a case there once.”

“Narcotics two years ago,” Seth replied, also reading the address. “Possession and intent to distribute.”

“I forgot you’ve got a photographic memory,” Dean smirked, causing the Architect to roll his eyes. Then, the three Hounds grabbed their vests, guns, and headed out to one of the squad cars.

The warehouse was a massive gray building that looked down on a winding road below. From a distance, one might mistake it for a small hangar, but that wasn’t the case.

Two black vans were parked out front, so Seth drove around the back. Quietly getting out of the car, the three Hounds drew their guns and walked to the back door. It was open.

“So glad you boys could make it,” a voice chuckled when they stepped inside. Triple H was standing at the other end of the warehouse, flanked by Randy Orton. Dean’s blood went cold, his legs unconsciously freezing. Roman stopped just a little bit ahead of him, but Seth kept walking, gun drawn.

“Funny finding you here, Hunter,” the Architect snarled, eyes narrow. Randy was holding a gun in his right hand, keeping it pointed at the ground. Triple H had no visible weapons, but he was very crafty at what he did.

“And I guess I could say the same.” The Chief of Police’s mouth formed a sneering grin. “How ironic that the three of you would come here.”

“Are you going to kill us?” The question was from Dean; his voice squeaked, and he winced. Why did the prospect of dying suddenly scare him?

“Always asking the good questions, Ambrose. And no, I’m not going to kill you.”

“Why not?” Roman snarled, grip around his pistol tightening. What Triple H said next changed everything.

“There’s a plan B, gentleman. There’s always a Plan B.” Randy started to raise his gun, probably pointing it in Dean’s direction. But Seth didn’t shoot him. Instead, he turned around and fired at Roman, shooting him through the back (the Big Dog had turned to look at Dean) and breaking a rib.

Dean’s world was falling apart. He watched Roman crumble to the ground, hitting the floor with a thump. He couldn’t hear anything except for his heart pumping.

He dashed toward his friend, ignoring the loud bangs and the sudden pain to his chest. All Dean cared about was Roman...he did not want to watch his friend die.

“Roman…” He turned him over. There was so much blood seeping through Roman's shirt and the edges of his vest.

"I'm alright, Ambrose." But it was obvious he wasn't. Dean shook his head at Roman's lie.

"No, you're not." He took his friend's hand and felt for a pulse. It was thready.

"Dean...it's okay."

"No it's not!" Dean never rose his voice, startling everyone in the building. He was not letting this happen. He was not going to watch his friend die. "Don't lie to me! You're trying to do what's best, you always do, and that makes you blind!" His voice cracked. "Don't leave me here, you idiot..." Roman's breath was slowing. Leaning forward, Dean held him in his arms and whispered, "Don't leave before I tell you how much I love you."

For a few seconds there was nothing. Then Seth pulled the trigger for the seventh time, finally knocking Dean out.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit (12/9/19): The ending wasn't so emotional originally. You're welcome.


End file.
